


Feast When You Can

by autoeuphoric (FreezingRayne)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Exhaustion, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:31:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8783215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreezingRayne/pseuds/autoeuphoric
Summary: At twenty-four, Yuuri has a lot of things most people don’t. Custom-made ice skates, chronic knee pain, over 8,000 instagram followers. Corporate sponsors, a wikipedia page, a modest but colorful collection of fanfiction written about him.
But he’s never had a sex life before.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brumalbreeze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brumalbreeze/gifts).



> Brumal donated to charity so I wrote porn. 
> 
> That's how capitalism works right

It’s late. Their breath blooms out in front of them in vaporous ghosts, leading the way down the road, glimmering and yellowed by the street lights. The cold hunches like a predator, but Yuuri’s skin is tingling, sweaty with exertion. He has taken off his scarf and wrapped it around his arm, tipped his hood back off his head. 

“Cold tonight, hmm?” Viktor holds up a hand and blows steaming breath through gloved fingers. “Reminds me of home.” 

Yuuri’s legs ache, calves trembling. The rink had been reserved for a birthday party that afternoon, so they had been forced to train in the evening. It’s creeping up to midnight now. Every so often a car slants past in a soft hiss of wheels on pavement, but other than that Hasetsu has drifted off to sleep. 

“That last jump.” Viktor squeezes Yuuri’s shoulder. “Was magnificent. Especially with your tired legs.” 

“I fell,” Yuuri says, even as the praise lights him up inside. 

“Still.” Viktor leans in close, though there is no one else to hear. “Your stamina is otherworldly.” 

Later Yuuri will claim it’s a loose spot of pavement that makes him stumble. Viktor will blame his own his irresistible sex appeal. Irregardless, at the gate to Yu-Topia Yuuri takes a step and his left leg gives out from under him. 

He squeaks, bracing himself for what will be his sixth fall today. Instead, he’s caught, held, Viktor’s laugh floating in his ear. “Swooning into my arms as usual, I see. Shall I carry you, my prince?” 

Yuuri goes breathless with surprise and the wheeling brightness of the stars. “Yes, please. I’m far too delicate to walk.” 

Viktor’s smile is a light above him much closer to home. He settles Yuuri more securely in his arms, the crunch of concrete turning into the soft shuffle of polished stones as he walks up the front path to the door. 

“I was kidding!” 

Amusement buzzes in Viktor’s chest and his arms tighten around Yuuri. He slides the front door open with his foot. From the parlor comes soft voices and the drone of the news, a few jet-lagged guests still awake, which means Mari will be too. Not the greatest time for Yuuri to show up in his coach’s arms. 

“Don’t carry me through the dining room!” Yuuri hisses needlessly, since Viktor is heading for the stairs. He totters slightly on the last step. Yuuri has a brief flash of the headline: _‘promising young Japanese skater’s career cut tragically short by his boyfriend’s inability to pass up a romantic gesture, no matter how ill advised’_. 

“I can walk!” 

“Yes, I know. The real question is, why should you when you have me?” 

“I’m heavy, you’ll to hurt your back--.” 

“I’m heavier than you are.” 

“I’m not carrying you up steps!” 

“You make a good argument.” Viktor says. “But I reject it. Now stop wriggling.” 

Being carried is honestly expending more energy than just walking would, since Yuuri has to work his abs to keep himself from becoming dead weight in Viktor’s arms, and tuck his head in to avoid scraping it against the guestroom doors. Almost all of them are occupied, and although it’s doubtful that anyone staying here isn’t aware it’s the home base of two champion figure skaters, they probably aren’t expecting to see them outside their doors at midnight doing lifts. 

By the time they reach Viktor’s room they are both frothing over with laughter, Viktor giggling so hard that when he heaves Yuuri onto the bed he falls down after him. Yuuri feels bubbly, shaken up like a bottle of champagne if it had exceptionally sore shins. He gets a glimpse of the shadowy ceiling before fingers snatch his glasses off and he gets a blurry picture of pale hair and a flickering grin. Viktor tosses his glasses toward the bedside table. 

“Hey--.” Yuuri attempts to rescue them--they’ve already undergone one sex-related incident--but as soon as he hits the mattress all the strength goes out of him. He can suddenly barely hold his head upright.

Luckily, he has someone to do that for him. Viktor cups the back of his neck, scratching lightly at his scalp, rippling shivers down Yuuri’s spine and into his belly. Viktor’s kisses are breathtaking. This one starts out chaste and whispery soft, just the lightest brush of contact, before he anchors long fingers in Yuuri’s hair, pressing him down and kissing him deep and wet and addicting. Yuuri doesn’t have much experience to compare, but he can’t imagine anyone else could make him feel like this. 

“Perfect,” Viktor murmurs, lips on his throat. “You’re delicious.” 

“I’m sweaty.” 

Viktor licks up his neck and makes a deeply cheesy noise of enjoyment that nevertheless heats Yuuri up. It’s a good thing Viktor is only effusive with his praise in bed--in the rink he is critical to the point of aggression.Those first few weeks he had almost brought Yuuri to tears. In bed, though--well, in bed he has certainly brought him to tears. He is lavish with his praise, and it _destroys_ Yuuri. He’s always been intensely embarrassed by porn where the actors say ‘sexy’ stuff to each other, but when Viktor does it...maybe it’s his accent. 

Viktor’s chilly fingers creep beneath Yuuri’s sweater. Yuuri’s senses fill up with the smell of him, his conditioner and cologne, the coffee he had been sipping continuously to keep himself alert enough for practice. Despite his reputation as a partier, Viktor is a morning person. 

“ _Viktor_ ,” Yuuri gasps between kisses. “Viktor.” He feels drunk, exhausted to the point of dizziness. A hand slides down his belly, drawing ticklish circles before rubbing between his legs. Yuuri squirms against his palm, rocking his hips and biting at his mouth. 

“Watching you on the ice,” Viktor murmurs, “Always drives me crazy.” 

Yuuri makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a moan. The tension between them on the rink has always been there--performer and watcher, student and mentor, champion and wannabe. Even years before, Yuuri would watch endless videos of Viktor’s competitions, feel a tiny phantom flicker of what has now blazed into life. Yuuri skates his routine with Viktor’s eyes on him, both of them consumed with the knowledge that as soon as they get alone his hands will take their place. 

“Don’t feel like you have to say yes, because I know you’re tired.” The promise in Viktor’s voice makes Yuuri’s toes curl into the wrinkled sheets. “But I really want to fuck you. I’ve been thinking about it all--.” 

“Yes.” Yuuri can’t even wait for him to finish. “Yes, yes, please.” 

Viktor’s smile is brilliant in the dark, vanishing for a moment, leaving Yuuri to look up at the blurry ceiling. 

“We’re fully booked tonight,” he reminds Viktor, remembering the guest register from that morning.

The nightstand drawer squeals. “We’ll be as quiet as mice. Very horny mice. Hands up.” 

Yuuri raises his arms and Viktor pulls his sweater up and off, static prickling over his back and neck, rippling over the top of his head as his hair floofs up. Viktor chuckles and wriggles his fingers in it. “Cute.” 

Yuuri bats his hand away and kicks out of his pants. In the dark with his glasses off, his vision is rendered down to almost nothing. Viktor is a buoy in the gloom, a touchstone to keep his tired mind rooted to the earth. 

At twenty-four, Yuuri has a lot of things most people don’t. Custom-made ice skates, chronic knee pain, over 8,000 instagram followers. Corporate sponsors, a wikipedia page, a modest but colorful collection of fanfiction written about him. But he’s never had a sex life before. He’s never needed to worry about keeping things discreet, or finding places to be intimate in a crowded and nosey household. He’s never had to hide hickies, or buy condoms from the lady at the Lawson down the street who has known him since he was five. He’s never had to worry about his furniture standing up to the activity he and Viktor put it through. And he’s never navigated the complicated and potentially painful annals of...well. Anal. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs as Viktor sinks a slick finger into him. His legs twitch. The first few seconds are manifestly uncomfortable, but Yuuri has never come up against anything he can’t make his body do if he works hard enough. He takes slow breaths and lets himself relax. With his tired muscles, it’s easy. 

Viktor lifts one of his legs, leans in to kiss the crease of his knee. “That’s perfect. Just like this.” 

The first time, Yuuri had been nervous and shaky, heart beating as fast as it does at the end of a program. Still worth it, though, because it had totally wrecked Viktor. He’d sucked kisses into his throat and mumbled endless, desperate praise in Russian, which he had then cheerfully translated for him the next morning over coffee. 

_Let me in, sweetheart, you take it so well._

_You look amazing on my dick._

_You’re so hot, I want to be inside you forever._

To mention just a few. 

Yuuri had been curled into a bright red ball of embarrassment by the end, but he’d still had to adjust himself under the table. When Viktor is involved his body doesn’t seem to care whether the sentiments are trite, gross, or straight out of terrible porn. Honestly he could get Yuuri hard reading a weather report if he did it in that voice, low and caught up, hypnotic with intent. 

Viktor’s fingers press further and a deep, brief echo of sensation sparks up Yuuri’s spine. “Right there--aaah, right here is good.” 

“Here?” 

“No--yes, yes, _god_ \--.” He cracks on the last syllable, then laughs and covers his face with his hands. Viktor keeps going, banking the heat higher and tighter, making Yuuri shiver and clutch at the sheets, until he’s bucking down onto Viktor’s fingers despite his shaking legs. 

“Get on your stomach,” Viktor murmurs. 

Yuuri scrambles to obey, pressing his face into blankets that smell like Viktor. A line of kisses moves up his back. The world gets smaller, the night condensing down to the bed and Yuuri’s exhaustion. It isn’t a bad feeling, really, being this tired. Fatigue is only an enemy when you struggle against it. And right now Yuuri can give in. He doesn’t have anything to do but lie here and let Viktor take him to pieces. 

Viktor reaches the nape of his neck, plants a hot, sharp kiss under his ear, then starts back down again. Yuuri smiles into the sheets. “What are you doing back there?” 

“Oh, am I boring you?” 

“Just putting me to sleep.” 

“Oh well. Feel free to take a rest if you need one.” He presses one last kiss to the small of Yuuri’s back, the tips of his hair painting ticklish lines.

“Mm hmm,” Yuuri says dreamily. 

“Seriously, if you’re too sleepy--.” His voice sounds genuine, but his cock rests against Yuuri’s ass in a warm, teasing line. 

“Do it, come on.” Yuuri cants his hips back, spreads his legs. 

“Okay, okay, hold on--,” Viktor grunts, accompanied by the crackling whisper of a condom being opened. When he pushes inside in a slow, controlled slide, Yuuri sucks in a ragged gasp and holds it. 

“Breathe,” Viktor reminds him. 

Yuuri growls into the mattress. It isn’t painful so much as overwhelming, more stress on his already overworked system. He’s trembling.

“You’re so wonderful,” Viktor gasps when he’s all the way inside. “I can’t…fuck, you feel so good.”

Yuuri swallows what threatens to become a very unsubtle noise as Viktor pulls out slowly and pushes back in, sending sparks cascading across his nerves. Time goes gooey and stretched, dissolving into rhythm and the tiny sounds Viktor makes as he fucks him deeper and deeper, pace increasing as Yuuri adjusts.

His angle changes as he shifts his weight and Yuuri’s breath ripples, whistles briefly through his teeth, pleasure hitting him molten hot as he gets it right. Viktor leans down to breathe soft and intimate against the nape of his neck.

“I love you like this. So relaxed and worn out. You--.” He snaps his hips and Yuuri keens, forgets about his own warnings about the guests. “I wish we were somewhere I could make you scream for me.”

Heat bolts through Yuuri. He fights to keep his head above water. “I don’t—I don’t scream.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” Viktor’s rhythm breaks for a moment. He makes a considering noise. “If I try something, will you promise to stop me if you don’t like it?” 

The teasing lightness is gone, and before Yuuri can answer a hand claps over his mouth. He struggles reflexively, panic at being restrained filling him up. Viktor immediately lets him go.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have--.” 

He starts to pull out and Yuuri reaches back to grab his thigh. “No, don’t, it’s okay, you just surprised me. You can--.” He realizes what Viktor wants to do and his cock throbs. He wants to drown out his voice so he can fuck him as hard as he wants, push him all the way to his limits just like he does on the ice. 

And just like on the ice, Yuuri _wants_ it. “Do it.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Viktor’s fingers trail across his shoulder blade, down his neck, and then back up to his mouth. “Snap your fingers for me.”

“Huh?” 

“Snap your fingers.” 

Yuuri snaps. 

Viktor’s thumb teases at the corner of his mouth, dipping briefly inside. “Snap if you want me to stop, okay? Or just throw me off. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

_You won’t_ , Yuuri thinks. But that’s not a very safe way to do things, so he says, “I’ll snap.” 

Initially, Yuuri would have been too afraid to try this. Too afraid of messing something up and revealing the depths of his naivete. He’d had countless fantasies involving Viktor, but in all of them he’d been far more like his eros character, Yuuri the seducer, not Yuuri the virginal, anxious fanboy. He’d had offers in college and at competitions, but inevitably his inexperience would be the thing that stopped him from getting experience. He very much does not like being bad at things. 

And then Viktor had happened. 

Overwhelming.That’s what life with Viktor is like. When he’d risen from the steam in the onsen all those months ago, Yuuri had felt something inside himself shake loose, his heart suddenly a thrashing kite in an unpredictable wind. He had taken over his life, his career, his heart. He had demanded more than Yuuri thought he had to give. 

_Overwhelming._

And now he presses Yuuri against the bed, hand over his mouth to keep his voice as trapped as his body, to keep their secret that isn’t really a secret for just a little longer. His hips snap against Yuuri’s ass, driving the thick heat of his cock into him again and again, breaths turning to gasps, turning to little wheezing cries as the rhythm begins to break. If Yuuri could talk he would ask who’s going to keep _him_ quiet. 

The sound and the smell of him fill Yuuri up, narrow his awareness down to the sweat tracing from his hairline, his aching legs, the sharp ghosts of sensation when Viktor scrapes his teeth along his shoulder blade in sloppy bites. Viktor fucks him like he was built for it, like he’s starving and Yuuri is the only thing that will fill him up. 

As it always does when he’s at his limit, he slips into Russian mid-sentence, murmuring what Yuuri can tell is encouragement and curses, just from the rise and fall of his voice. 

“ _I want you_ ,” he gasps. Yuuri’s Russian is limited, but he knows this, even through the trembling desperation. “ _I want you_.” 

_You have me_ , Yuuri thinks, focuses on the words, as if somehow Viktor can feel them through his skin. 

“Yuuri, I’m sorry, I--.” He slips back into English, biting at the rim of Yuuri’s ear, blowing puffs of damp breath. “I’m--” 

He comes with a hard snap of his hips, burying his groans against Yuuri’s spine. His muscles tremble for a moment, pulled taut against the length of Yuuri’s body, until he makes a broken sound and sags to the side with a sigh of contentment. His fingers slip away from Yuuri’s mouth, rest against the curve of his jaw. For awhile they just breath together, the quiet slipping in around them like a snowfall. 

“So how did I do?” Viktor asks after long enough that Yuuri is floating somewhere in the velvety gap between waking and sleep. 

“Hmm?” 

“Scream-wise.” He wriggles his fingers. “Was the hand necessary?” 

“Oh.” Yuuri’s laugh is all breath. “Maybe a little. But I think it would probably have been more discreet to take the futon off the frame.” 

“Urgh.” Viktor rubs his forehead against Yuuri’s back. “I didn’t think this through. Did you come?” 

Yuuri shakes his head. “It’s okay.” He can’t usually finish with Viktor inside him; the experience is too all-encompassing to focus on getting himself there. He isn’t even really hard anymore. 

“Do you want me to--?” 

“I’d rather sleep, I think.” 

Viktor rolls him gently to the side, and Yuuri braces himself for the inevitable discomfort of him pulling out. “Okay.” He kisses Yuuri’s cheek and goes to throw the condom away. 

The world around them still seems small, the darkness closing them down to only this narrow space. The two of them, the bed, and the occasional ping of the radiator. Viktor’s heartbeat plays slow percussion against his back. His hair is ticklish on Yuuri’s neck, but not ticklish enough for him to expend energy readjusting. 

Honestly, he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. This man, this life. 

No, that's not true. He does know. 

He put in the work. He did the time. He wanted to be a champion so he trained as hard as he could, he wanted Viktor so he made him the focus of his eros. With the bursting clarity that only appears to the very inebriated or half-comatose, Yuuri realizes he’s been wrong this whole time. Even when he lost, when he choked, when he couldn’t force himself to come back after a fall--he’s never let himself down, because everything he’s done has brought him here. 

It’s a silly sentiment. Pithy. Of course life would be different if he’d made different choices. But he feels the pressure of Viktor at his back, the weight of the past and the future, and he falls asleep on a swell of satisfied pride.

\- 

In the morning he wakes overly warm with a crick in his neck from sleeping on his side. Viktor greets him sleepily, kissing his cheek and blowing sour morning breath in his face.

“Urgh, that’s even worse than Makkachin’s.”

“Yeah, but I’m better looking than Makkachin.” 

“Barely.” 

Viktor shifts beneath the blankets and wraps a warm hand around Yuuri’s dick, strokes slow and building, fingers moving against the sticky head, getting him easily up to that peak he couldn’t climb last night. He holds him at the edge, balanced precariously, hips twitching. “You want to take the day off?” 

“Maybe,” Yuuri gasps, although he knows he won’t. By mid-afternoon the pull of the ice will be too strong, that sorcery of Viktor’s attention and the honed responses of his own body. Viktor mutters his name, sending Yuuri over the edge into the freefall of electricity up his spine, bright and patient and undeniable. He closes his eyes, breathes in the morning. 

All the things he has--they’re his, and he deserves them.

**Author's Note:**

> Viktor's dirty talk is always terrible and no one will disabuse me of this belief.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, brumal my dear.
> 
> autoephoric on tumblr hit me up. enable more fics by [buying me a coffee](http://ko-fi.com/A486GHM)


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